Princess Skirts
by Obsidian5
Summary: Some dreams shouldn’t die (Sam's POV)


Title: Princess Skirts

Author: Obsidian

Rating: G

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I have way too much love for Hank & Co. to try to steal from them.

Spoilers: Minor spoiler for The Bus

Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to Maple Street. Love you all.

  


* * * * * *

  


When you are a little girl, you dream. 

  


Dark-haired heros and princess skirts. 

  


But sometimes a dream can die. 

  


A mother. Drowning in a lifetime of bitter disappointment. She says that there are no heros. Not for you. 

  


A father. Filled with pain and resentment. He tells you that some girls don't get to wear pretty little princess skirts. Especially girls like you.

  


And you believe. 

  


It's hard not to. It's nearly impossible to push away a lifetime of not enoughs . . . not pretty enough . . . not smart enough . . . not good enough. 

  


So you settle for half-truths. And you bury your dreams. You decide that you don't want 2.2 children. You don't need a white picket fence. 

  


But the voice of the little girl inside your head says differently. And she grows louder and more insistent over the years. Taunting you with wants and needs and hopes and desires.

  


Teasing you with the possibility of him.

  


You just wish, that for once, she would have the simple decency to tell you exactly who _he _ is supposed to be. 

  


And you wonder if you can even trust her. 

  


She lied to you once. 

  


When she whispered to you of youth and beauty. When she told you how pretty you would look with a bright-eyed adonis of a boy by your side. How envious all of your friends would be. 

  
  
  
  


_It was red hot for the first two weeks and ice cold the last four months._

  
  
  
  
  


A disaster. 

  


And you cursed her for the lie. 

  


But you swallowed your regret and you moved on. Because that's what big girls do. 

  


Of course, the little girl cried. She said that she was sorry. That she was wrong. And like they say all little girls must do (even the voice in your head), she grew up.

  


And she grew silent. 

  


And as you moved from life to life, man to man, you even managed to forget about her.

  


Until the day that you met him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He would never be young again. He had never been pretty. But he was the most beautiful man that you had even seen. His eyes. His soul. His heart. The way that he looked at you.

  


And, for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, you heard the little girl again. Felt her breath warm your cheeks with color as she whispered . . . 

  
  
  
  
  


_Yes._

  
  
  
  
  
  


But this time you argued. You weren't going to make the same mistake. You weren't going to fall for childish fantasies. Not again.

  


You told her, if she had been paying any attention at all, that she would know that you worked for him. That he was _married_. That this wasn't a romance novel. That he wasn't going to leave his wife. 

  


_Not for you_, the voices of your parents added.

  


But you lost the battle.

  


Not because you believed her. 

  


And not because you didn't believe them. 

  
  
  
  
  


But because you believed him.

  


When he whispered that you were beautiful. When he said that he knew you. When he told you how much you mattered to him. And when he spoke to you of salvation in the dark. 

  


Much to your surprise, you learned that your parents were wrong. And that annoying little girl in your head was right. 

  


You could love. 

  


And you did. 

  


And, for the first time in your life, you understood. Understood why love abides no fear. Requires risk. Begs for sacrifice. Knows no boundaries. Even a gold, metal band and an ink-stained license can't change the world in your heart. 

  


And you learned why love is such a rare thing. Why it comes, perhaps, only once in a lifetime. If at all. 

  
  
  
  
  


Because it has the power to destroy you.

  
  
  
  
  


You know. 

  
  
  
  
  


Because he broke you. 

  
  
  
  
  


_Yeah, it's over._

  
  
  
  


And this time, when the little girl cries, you weep too. 

  


But this time, there is no regret to swallow. And you know that you will never truly move on. That you will never forget. You will always be waiting. Looking for him again. For a sign. 

  


Oh, sure, you'll try to walk away. Take a new path. And sometimes, you will even succeed. 

  


At least for a little while. On the surface. If you don't look too deeply. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


And so one day, when you are sad and alone and so incredibly sorry, you go with the boy standing there in front of you. 

  


And the little girl hides. 

  


Because you both know. 

  


Some day this boy will meet a new girl who can love him as much as he loves her. And he will leave you. 

  


You try to coerce the little girl out of hiding by telling her that it's OK if he walks away. This boy will never break you. Not the way that _he_ did. This boy doesn't have that power over you. 

  


Before she disappears, you hear her faint echo . . . 

  
  
  
  
  


_That's why I'm hiding._

  
  
  
  


And you know that she's right. You should hide from this boy too. Because _this _will never be enough.

  


You will never forget the dream of your princess skirt. Or your dark haired hero. 

  


You will always hope. 

  


And even with the boy by your side, you will secretly wait. 

  
  
  
  


For love.

  
  
  
  
  


For life.

  
  
  
  
  


For _him_.

  
  
  
  
  


Because sometimes little girls shouldn't grow up after all. 

  


Some dreams shouldn't die. 

  
  
  
  
  


_fin._

  



End file.
